


Let the Sky Cry for Me

by Who_First



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Gen, everyone really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-18
Updated: 2012-04-27
Packaged: 2017-11-03 21:34:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Who_First/pseuds/Who_First
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim spends his last few moments wishing he could tell his family how much he loved them. Death fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

Tim coughed, sliding down the wall against his back, but he could hear them moving around. That meant they were alive. That’s what counted.

Another cough sent the blood pooling in his mouth flying away in high speed splatters. Metal pulled away from his chest, gasping as the cold slithered away with more of his blood, and the other man was stepping back with gore sliding down once gleaming metal.

“I suppose you’re happy Drake.”

Tim didn’t have the strength to pull his head up to meet Slade’s gaze. Not when his life was dripping quickly away. But he had _won_.

“You distracted me long enough. They made it out alive.”

 _They are_. Tim wanted to agree with the words, and he was smiling, but the blood pooling in his mouth again was making it hard to say the words. Instead he watched with dimming eyes as large legs folded opposite him and the hands still fondling the bloody katana came into view.

The hands stilled as the voices moved closer. Tim struggled to get up, ruined hands pressing against the dirty ground and pushing with all his might. Slade didn’t bothering trying to stop him, instead watching quietly, but he did catch the young vigilante when his legs gave out and set the boy back in place against the wall.

“We got lucky, he must not have had the time to set the bomb up correctly and Slade’s a genius, this had to be a one in a million chance.” Dick sounded so shocked and happy, it made Tim shiver as another trail of blood dripped from his mouth. “We had no chance of coming out of there alive in time.”

 _No chance. Not unless someone intervened_.

Tim’s head fell forwards, making breathing even harder as he wished for the breath to call out to them, and he could feel Slade’s silence as they both listened.

“Robin how are you?” Dick’s voice changed so quickly to concerned.

It had been a while since Dick acted that way to him.

The rough gloved finger ran across Tim’s bloody lips before slowly pushing his head back into place against the wall. And suddenly he could breathe just a little bit easier. Not that it would matter soon.

“I am fine Nightwing.” And Damian sounded almost relieved to, so different from the voice Tim always heard, and it made him wish that he had tried harder to be friendly with Damian. “I am relieved you arrived in time.”

 _In time to save us_. That had to be the words Damian wasn’t saying. The blood spilling from Tim’s chest and mouth was almost frothy now as he wanted to laugh hysterically.

Slade had pulled his mask off and was looking just as amused.

Tim thought back to the fight. Slade had come to town, and both Dick and Bruce had been panicking and Damian had been so distant as normal, and then Bruce and Damian hadn’t come back from patrol.

_“Dick we just need to calm down and think!”_

_“And while we’re thinking they could be dying!”_

_“And if we run in without a plan we could get them killed!”_

Tim’s throat ached in memory at how loud their screaming had been. He hadn’t meant to lose his temper, but Dick had hit so many buttons, and he had been looking so hard for them too. He wasn’t trying to abandon them, he would never doing that after he knew what it felt like.

_“You want to leave them to die?”_

_“You left me, pushed me away, when I needed it! I’m just saying we need to wait and be prepared!”_

Tim was horrible at speaking. He had to be when Dick didn’t understand. He only meant to make a plan. Just something better than rushing in and possibly killing his family. Dick knew how dangerous Slade was, is.

_“You really want to be that way? Fine Tim. You’ve got what you wanted. You’re no longer part of this family. We won’t keep an eye on you; do whatever you do care about and keep out of my way as I save my family.”_

Tim opened his eyes, only then realizing he’d closed them, and Slade was still looking at him in amusement. Tim’s hands pressed against his chest as he took another raspy breath, all of his blood was escaping between his fingers, as Tim tried to focus his energy. He only needed a few words, just something to get their attention before it was too late, he just wanted a last word with them.

“Where’s Red Robin?” Oh god Bruce, he hadn’t even talked to him in months, and he sounded so cold. “He should have been helping.”

“Red Robin’s abandoned us.” Dick was so angry, _please no Dick I didn’t mean it that way I’m right here_ , as he spoke. “He’s made it clear he doesn’t want to help us or be part of the family.”

A single tear, more blood than salty water, slid down Tim’s face as he listened to them moving further away from the alley. Another tear followed collecting more blood as it rolled silently downwards.

Slade cocked his head as they both listened to Dick’s angry words. The small smile on his lips was twisting in time with the conversation.  The assassin’s hand was still against his head holding him up.

“I warned you.” Damian sniffed, the complete lack of surprise hurting more than his words, as the footsteps growing harder to hear. “He is never any use.”

“Silence Robin,” Bruce’s voice was pure Batman, but Tim wanted to hear Bruce, as they kept going. “We’ll talk about Red Robin later.”

Tim’s heart was breaking as the sky started crying, mixing in with his own tears and blood, and it was so nice that something was crying for him. Slade was just watching him in silence as Tim’s ears started ringing and he couldn’t understand the words his family were still speaking.

But…

In the end it didn’t matter. If his adopted family didn’t care about him, and they might not even notice his absence, but he had saved them. Gotham needed Batman and Robin and Nightwing. They even needed the Red Hood because as much as Bruce hated it, some villains really should be put down, but Red Robin was superfluous.

In the end… dying was worth saving his family.

Slade watched as Tim slumped against the alley wall; he wasn’t dead, not yet. But he was unconscious. _Heh, dead to the world_. Slade moved silently, the slightly healthier vigilantes talked only a few yards away, and sat next to the unconscious hero.

“Nightwing,” Batman’s growl could sound scary; to someone who didn’t know what real fear was.

Slade almost laughed, silently of course, as he pulled the slowly bleeding to death young man over against his shoulder. He patted the dark hair, soft where there wasn’t blood sticking to it, and let the boy relax into his side.

“What?” And there was his angry self-riotous Nightwing. Pity how he’d never grown into his potential.

Drake’s breathing was slowing down more, but he still snuggled into Slade’s side like it was the first time someone had held him, earning another gentle pat from an assassin’s hand.

Slade didn’t mind waiting a few more minutes, Drake had proven to be a smart and dangerous enemy, and he was happy to give the boy enough respect to wait with him as he died.

“Fine.” Dick always was so mercurial in temperament, too bad, Drake would have liked to hear Dick’s sad words. “I was just so worried, I know he was doing what he thought was best, but there wasn’t time.”

“A plan is a necessity Nightwing.” Batman sounded irritated, like always.

“I know. I’ll go find him in the morning and apologize. Surprised he didn’t come out after us.”

“You’d better.” Batman warned, finally sounding a little more Bruce Wayne than Batman, as he spoke. “Red’s been through too much recently for you to put him down for using his brain.”

“He does…” That was the littlest Robin, the only one that held no interest for Slade, sounding annoyed. “Dr-Red Robin does have the occasional good plan.”

Slade laughed for real, Drake’s heartbeat was to slow and starting to skip beats, these Bats had the worst timing. He could spare a few seconds of pity for the vigilante that was too far gone to hear his family speaking fondly about him.

Timothy Drake would die only hearing their anger.


	2. Please Don't Forget That I Was Here

Slade paused, just long enough to ensure that any troublesome vigilantes were far away, and glanced down at the heavy weight against his side. It wasn’t very heavy, or not heavy enough for the boy’s size to be healthy, but it was a _dead_ weight.

To fingers pressed under the bloody chin to the pale neck, and yes it was still alive but breathing very shallowly, so he still had a choice concerning what to do with it.

One pale hand dropped against Slade’s leg, the gauntlet ripped away in their fight, and Slade poked at the fingers. The boy had tried to kill him, Slade saw it in his eyes, and that wasn’t very Bat like at all, Grayson would have never been able to come at with killing intent. But it was very interesting.

Slade stood up gracefully, stretching muscles needlessly, as he eyed the barely breathing, gasping, pre-corpse. He reached into his pocket, thoughtfully pulling out the slim digital camera, as he held it up before the bloodless figure.

Well. Drake wasn’t bloodless. Not with the amount of blood splattering his body.

The small flash disturbed the dirt more than Drake. Now Slade needed to track down some of his fingers and maybe a few more pictures. Pictures were very useful. You could taunt enemies with them, another glance at the dying young man, or use them as evidence.

Amazingly enough some people weren’t actually serious when they said they ‘wanted his head on a silver plate’ and finding silver plates large enough for heads was getting harder.

A couple more _interesting_ pictures. Than he stopped in front of Drake again, listening carefully to the young man’s breathing, then he was grabbing the limp form and hoisting it into a bridal carry. Important organs couldn’t fall out that way. He barely felt the added weight of the ex-vigilante, as he walked to his car, much to light to be healthy. Some of the lightness of his package could be due to the severe blood loss, but he doubted it, no Slade just continued to his car.

He almost wanted to whistle as he opened the back doors, placing the dying body inside, before getting into the driver’s seat. Now he just needed to find the right kind of doctor.

~~~

Bruce sat down heavily in his chair as Alfred started fussing, Dick and Damian were sitting opposite on the hospital gurney, as the older man tutted and patched them up. They all had injuries, nothing life threatening luckily, but Damian was badly dehydrated thanks to being smaller and the bruises would be staying for a while. Now he just had to contact one of his two distant sons, try and fix whatever the fight Tim and Dick had, and get life moving normally again.

Or as normal as it ever got for them.

“Alfred.”

“Yes sir?” It really was amazing the amount of irritation and displeasure in the two words.

“Have you heard from Tim?”

“No, Master Bruce. I haven’t heard from the young master since he left after Master Richard and his conflict.”

Dick ducked his head and mumbled beneath his breath, well aware of the glares swearing would receive, fingers tapping nervously on his thigh. Damian leaned against his older brother with heavily lidded eyes, ignoring the fluids going into his arm, and half asleep on Dick’s arm.

“You’ll call him in the morning.” Bruce glared at Dick.

“Yeah Bruce. I actually try to make up fights, you know, _talk_.” Dick rolled his eyes, not in the mood to deal with Bruce, but he could feel a pang in his heart at the thought of Tim. He’d…he had really fucking screwed up with Tim last night.

Making it up to his baby brother was going to be hard. But he’d done it so many times before, one more time wouldn’t hurt.

~~~

“You want what?”

Slade glared down at the tiny mouse of a man, he wasn’t that sure the standing corpse knew what a band aid _was_ , let alone try know how to save the ex-vigilante. But most people seemed a little nervous with his katana against their neck.

 Not Drake though, not with that cold blue death glare, not Drake at all.

“Let him die. And then bring him back.” Slade spoke very slowly, blade cutting through shallow skin like butter with each word, smirking inwardly at the stench of fear. A few more seconds and Slade expected the sharp metal bite of piss dribbling down the man’s legs.

Slade took a long possessive look at the broken boy, he could hear the heart stuttering with too little blood to pump, and eyed the frozen little nurses cowering in the corner. Taking over an operating room made things so much easier. Possibly even cleanup.

“But you don’t understand,” And the thing, couldn’t really be a man, was wringing it’s hands again. How hard was it for some people to understand a katana against their throat? “If I wait until his breathing has stopped the chances of him recovering are worse. “

“Do it.” Slade was cold as he watched the hurried motions, ignoring the pain as one of the tiny mouse nurses stitched his fingers back in place, before shoving her aside and leaning over the body as it stopped.

Slade breathed deeply, the almost smell of approaching death as the little mice rushed into action, and his newly stitched fingers wrapped around the detonator.

“Something’s need to die before they’re useful.”

~~~

Dick was still trying to call Tim back the next day, he already knew the other wasn’t going to answer any time soon he’d be too busy pouting and being angry, and that’s when the envelope arrived.

If it had been anyone other than Slade’s brisk handwriting Dick would have scouring the video cameras to figure out how Slade had gotten to the front door without being seen. But this was Slade and he was the best at that type of thing. And Slade wouldn’t send a bomb lie that, so Dick opened the envelope angrily, not waiting for the others to come, and let the contents drop to the kitchen table.

They were photos.

A photo of Bruce and Damian tied up and de-masked. One of Damian with his eye swollen shut and looking so scared, one of Tim and Dick arguing.

Dick’s hands tightened, bending the photos, as he flipped through them.

One of the bombs that had been set up but hadn’t gone off, large and destructive, that would have killed them so quickly. And that was weird because he didn’t see a timer attached and now that he thought about it, Slade preferred bombs he could set off remotely at any time. There was a picture of the door to the warehouse with the chain holding it shut. And it had taken so long to get through that chain, and Dick had been expecting death with every second, because both Bruce and Damian were having trouble walking and the chain was so thick he couldn’t cut through it from the inside.

And there was a splash of dark blood on the chain.

Dick’s eyes narrowed as he brought the picture of the chained door closer to his face. It wasn’t obvious at first, the spray was a thin light wave of drops, but there was a sliding almost handprint shape just under the chain like someone else had tried to open it.

He started flipping through the pictures quicker. A picture of a larger blood spray against the wall and one of Slade’s throwing knives wedged in at head level. A picture of a remote detonator, such a tiny little thing with so much power over life and death, and there were tips of fingers beside it. Slade’s finger tips from the unique gloves.

Alfred moved into the kitchen, giving Dick a sever look as he too in the mess of photos littering the table, and then he too was frowning.

The last photo dropped from nerveless hands and Dick was stumbling back into the wall before he was bending over and retching. Feeling like everything he’d eaten in the last year was coming up as the photo glared at him behind his closed eyes.

Tea cups shattered when they hit the ground, a million tiny pieces more dust than porcelain, and Alfred was swaying in place. The pure British butler that took everything in stride and was ready for everything and _no one_ could ever be ready for this.

_I did this I did this I did this._

Dick fell to his hands and knees, still vomiting, not caring that he was collapsed in his own mess. He didn’t see Alfred hunching over one hand against his chest as the other old hand quivered and touched the damning evidence. Never before had his hand looked so old as it hovered above…

That’s when Bruce and Damian walked in, Bruce with his high and mighty step always so in charge, as he took in the photos with shocked and frozen silence. And for the first time Damian looked so disturbed, _he was a child he shouldn’t be looking at that picture_ , and his hands went around his stomach as he gasped. His eyes were darting between everyone; Dick’s vomiting, Bruce’s cold anger and disbelief, Alfred’s obvious sadness and pain and shaking hands, just trying, _hoping_ , to find the correct reaction.

It was the only picture with Slade’s distinct scrawl. So few words, placed just right around the edges of the photograph, so that the star of the picture was clear and stark against the dark surroundings. Tim’s broken body, blood spilling down his front from the huge puncture through his chest, and covering everything in the dark ghastly liquid. Just propped against a brick wall, the broken and thrown away toy, surrounded by the dirt and the trash and the blood with the words…

_Did you forget someone? We listened as you walked away._

~~~

Dick refused to talk, eat, wouldn’t interact with anything. Bruce was tearing apart Gotham like a madman, punishing those that could never even hope to have had the strength to injure Red Robin. Damian was lost, wandering the halls of the Manor and trying to so hard not to glance at a room that hadn’t been used in forever and now never would again. Alfred was in the kitchen, for once at a loss for what to do, not noticing when the teapot started whistling or caring as he burned his hands when the boiling water overflowed.

Others came. Babs left quickly, heart in her throat, and tried to track down someone as good with computers as she was. Cass came and said nothing, instead sitting in the room no one else would go near, and just holding the pillow that still smelled a little like her brother. Both on and Bart came by, in too much shock to do more than see the picture and die on the inside, saying nothing to anyone else.

Clark and Diana came and tried to talk sense into Bruce, already a lost battle, and then forcefully sedating him until he caught some rest. They tried hard to keep him from going insane at loosing another son and not even having the body.

The explosion of a warehouse hadn’t been big news in Gotham, where monsters like the Joker roamed and caused so much worse damage, but it was still news. Even more so when several bodies had been discovered inside. It wasn’t like Bruce could come out and ask if his missing son was one of the bodies, not that there was any identification yet, not when the only evidence of death was a picture of Red Robin.

It wasn’t possible that Tim had lived through that. It wasn’t. Not against Slade.

Clark and Diana had been the only ones to see Bruce break down and cry. Alone in the darkness beside a pile of rubble where a building once stood. Just holding him as the world’s greatest detective put together the pieces and realized his son had died for him. And he had…he hadn’t even known.

He’d left his _son_ , his quiet and genius _Timothy_ , _dying alone_.

Bruce cried. Alone as his two best friends held him.

Word was getting around that Red Robin had been killed, some of Gotham’s underbelly were taking advantage and peddling their drugs and underhanded deals, others were just as silently devastated as the hero community. Not all of them knew, or cared, about the young man behind the mask…but they recognized the loss of true hero.

 Selina ended up at the Iceberg, her long standing feud with Cobblepot placed in a cease fire as they drank together, and others joined in for a moment of quiet and strong drinks. Selina wasn’t surprised how many criminals raised a glass, Tim had been one of the few heroes that  saw the many shades of grey, but some of the villains still surprised her. Harley and Ivy had both skittered by almost unseen with short shots before disappearing, Riddler had raised his glass and quietly regretted losing such a fine mind, Scarecrow was mask less and looking like the doctor he once was as he shared a drink with Croc and Bane who admired the smallest heroes’ strength and ability.

A tear slid down Selina’s face, no one was cold enough to mention it, as her heart grew a little colder.

In a different silent corner of Gotham a lone man with dark hair and a strip of white froze when he heard. Then he was flooded with rage and storming through his territory and destroyed half of Gotham’s drug trade, whether it was his people or not, no one in his path was spared. Cursing the world for taking away something only _he_ should have been allowed to.

The Red Hood collapsed when he was in another one of Gotham’s thousand alleys, rank and smelling of decay and death, ripping away his helmet as he shed a tear for _his_ brother. He might have tried to kill the pretender, but that was personal between them, and there was such a chance for…

There was a chance for _more_.

Jason cried and swore and broke as he remembered.

And the day of the memorial, no public funeral when the world went on without realizing its loss, the sky was still raining its’ tears. The sky was violent, green and purple clouds that warned you to stay indoors, and the rain was pouring in sheets hiding the tears of so many individuals.

The Manor was so loud with so many disguised heroes, and still so quiet with loss, all bent over a small stone in front of fresh dirt and flowers. And there were so many more cards and flowers and notes, some addressed to Red Robin that had found their way to other heroes as word spread, they filled the Manor.

So very many of the notes made Bruce colder, and Dick more broken, and Damian more lost as they read how Tim had touched so many hearts. Alfred stepped back into the shadows, given privacy from those that could hear, as his face slipped and the tears fell.  So many people: heroes, semi villains, civilians, so many lives touched without them knowing what they had missed from the quietest member of their family.

There was one rose. Beautiful in it’s imperfection, caught inside a glass case like a photo. The glass etched with flowing Arabic, that made Bruce go white faced and break the glass and rose into pieces. The shining shards reflecting Bruce’s anger in a million pieces, pieces of a broken life, only a single petal floating away from the carnage to land unnoticed on fresh earth.

A single overlooked petal for a single overlooked life.


	3. Chapter 3

When Tim woke up he thought he was still in that cold dark alley with Slade as company. Everything still hurt, it felt like his chest had been sunburned in places, and he still wasn’t getting enough oxygen and Slade was sitting across from him. It made sense.

_Oh god did I let them die? Was I imagining them getting away alive?_

“Sla-de” Tim croaked, the word breaking up half out of his mouth, it felt like he had walked the Sahara without water.

“Afternoon Drake. Nice of you to finally join.”

Tim wasn’t sure if it was Slade at first, sounded like it and it felt like Slade, but his eyes were still focusing past pain. The creeping feeling of terror and certain doom trailing down his spine that came from facing an infamous assassin felt right though.

It was the same feeling that had coursed through his body when he first put on the Robin suit. Well he felt it every time he put on the suit and stepped outside.

Except one.

All the other times Tim had been so scared of what might or might not happen. He had lived his life with could be’s. But he’d stepped in front of Slade knowing that his family would win in the end.

Even if _he_ lost.

Slade looked comfy, just sprawled out in lazy abandon across from Tim’s stuttering heart, but he could see the stiches around some of the assassin’s fingers. He thought he remembered cutting off some fingers.

A broken smirk crossed Tim’s face as he looked up, the world was fuzzy and the drugs coursing through his system made his thoughts go wild, and that really was Slade. _Why I am I still breathing, he killed me already, and they left me, no my fault not theirs_. Those thoughts were pushed away like other thoughts he’d had over the years. Just because he had them didn’t mean they would ever hold him back.

 “Slade,” Tim croaked, the word breaking up half out of his mouth, it felt like he had walked the Sahara without water. “Wh-y”

“No one paid me to kill you,” Slade cocked his head as he relaxed in his seat, staring with flat predator eyes at the boy on the cot, looking for something before he answered. “Why lose the money?”

There was a hint of fangs in the brief smile he flashed Tim, _I didn’t feel like it but that can change_ , Tim could hear the unspoken words. A raised hand fell back to bed in seconds, leaving Tim flinch as his body betrayed him, and leaving the young man to just meet the cold eye.

“Fam…ly?”

Slade didn’t answer at first, unfolding from his position in the chair, and walking, _stalking_ , over towards Tim. The hands were hidden as they moved below Tim’s sight, before coming back up with a dripping rag, the wet cloth forced into Tim’s mouth.

Tim’s eyes closed in relief as the cool water slow slipped down his throat. It felt amazing against the burning dryness of his throat. It felt like a tiny slice of heaven among all the stabbing and dull throbbing pain.

“Safe and sound,” Amusement colored Slade’s words as fingers around the cloth brushed the broken lips. “Just like you wanted Drake.”

Tim’s lips crinkled as finally relaxed, if his family was alive than everything was alright, eyes gleaming in victory as Slade’s eyebrow rose in acknowledgment.

“Do you regret trading places with them?”

The gleam of victory in Tim’s eyes deadened until it was as flat and emotionless as Slade’s curious amusement. He didn’t answer yet, knowing to focus on sucking every article of water out of cool cloth before it was taken away, just eyed the superior predator evenly.

 “And they were so thankful.”

Tim held Slade’s eyes, even as the rag was finally taken away and calloused fingers brushed the underside of his jaw, never looking away even when tears threatened to break past his eyes.

His hand gripped Slade’s stronger wrist as Tim’s strength came back with anger. Throwing the hand away from himself, ignoring his broken body’s protests, and sitting up. Slade took an even step back as bare and bruised feet touched cold concrete and pushed the shivering body into standing.

“Whatever you want…”

Tim leaned forwards feeling like he was still in that alley, and it was _pouring_ , as he glared down the assassin.

“I won’t help you.” Tim stood straight, as much as it hurt and any second now his muscles would give in and drop him at Slade’s feet _but_. “They don’t have to be thankful. They don’t have to know anything ever happened. They are _my_ family and I _will_ protect them.”

  1. Slade kept his eyes on Tim’s, the pretend emotions falling away from his face and leaving nothing to guess at what his thoughts were, just watched.   



“They are my family and I would do anything for them.”

“Obviously,” Slade grinned sharply then as he towered over the trembling boy, eyes roving slowly up and down Tim’s shaking frame, watching the tiny spasms of pain flickering across angry features.

“You died for them.”

“Yes.”

It was a simple word. One Tim had so very many times in his life, to lies and truths, when he should never have said it. This was the first time he said it without hesitating. Without that little voice in the back of his head saying ‘ _be careful always think it through_ ’.

“Would they have done the same for you?”

“I don’t know.” Tim couldn’t shrug, not now when the anger was ebbing, he just kept staring. “It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

Tim refused to let the knowing smirk get to him as his hand wrapped around the sturdy chair.

“Really?” Slade pressed closer, overwhelming Tim, as he grinned wildly. “Did you hear what they said about you? As you lay there dying.”

“Dick didn’t know! He didn’t know what was going to happen, if he did he would have apologized!” Tim shouted, voice breaking and shaking, Slade was getting past his calm and he couldn’t let-

“Not try to stop you?”

Tim froze, the one hand wrapped around the chair the only thing keeping him up, as his suddenly confused eyes met Slade’s intense gaze. Completely thrown by the sudden question.

“What?”

It was the first time Slade had ever heard to boy sound as small as he was.

“You said: ‘he would have apologized’. Do you think he would have left you to your death? Not tried to help you at all?” Fingers pressed again to cold, clammy, shaking flesh as Slade drew closer.

“That’s not what I meant.” Tim protested, but the faint doubt was obvious and Slade could smell the boy’s sudden uneasiness. “He would have helped.”

“Would he? Or would he have shouted at you faster to get to the warehouse sooner?”

Slade reached out and gripped the less injured arm as Tim slipped, holding the boy up as the muscles finally started giving in as anger and adrenaline faded away to a memory.

“Would he have trusted that you could hold your own,” _when you couldn’t_ “And let you help him? Or would he have locked you up for your own protection and tried to save the day by himself?”

The blue eyes, still so cloudy and unfocused after his seconds of death, looked away.

Slade pushed the boy back down onto the cot, gently for him, and smiled a shark’s grin.

 

 

“I’m not asking you to ‘join me’ Drake. I asked one Robin, and you’re not him. You already chose to die for them.” Slade grabbed Tim’s chin as the boy tried to look away. “I’m just pointing out…”

The pause was long enough that the blue eyes met the single grey one.

“The rest of your life.”

“I don’t…” Tim’s thoughts were in shambles, he was smart he knew things, but the look Slade was giving him made no sense. “Understand.”

“No.” Slade backed up, turning his back and going to his desk and the chair as he continued. “Someone like you wouldn’t. You’re too obsessed with the mission. Do you have any other life other than Wayne’s mission?”

Tim stayed silent watching as Slade pulled out a sealed envelope. A big one, so full looking, big enough to contain something terrible as Tim hesitated.

“You did die for them.” The smile was almost real. “There’s no shame in that.”

The young man, such a small child next to the assassin, looked even more confused at the sudden change in words.

“That was what kept me sitting with you as they walked away.”

“They didn’t know.” Tim repeated softly.

“Don’t fool yourself Drake.” That was pure scorn. “You could have made some noise. You chose not to.”

“They… you would have killed them.”

“Yes. You came to me.”

The silence fell, dragging Tim back to the alley again, and all the things he had wanted to say then. All the conflicting fears he had lived with were fighting against knowing that he had saved his family. Family was…sacrifice. Slade didn’t have to say what Tim already knew, someone had to die that night, Tim was just living on borrowed time now.

Slade remained quietly watching, letting the ex-vigilante have his moment to think things through. Slade had so many ideas when he had taken the dying boy away but in the end it really came back to why he had stayed with the vigilante as he died.

 _Respect_.

“Tim Drake is dead.” The envelope, small package really, was thrown onto the young man’s lap, before Slade leaned back and crossed his arms. “His funeral is over, there’s no one left that would look for him, he had the time of his life and now it’s over. Someone could go back and die again. They’d acknowledge you but how long would it last?”

Another shark grin edged out of Slade’s face as he considered the quiet young man.

“I’m just giving the chance of a future to someone who earned it. Think about it.”

Slade turned than and left. The door didn’t slam behind him, or anything noteworthy, he just left like everyone else in a dead boy’s life.

The blue eyed young man breathed slowly, carefully sitting up as his stitched together body protested, one hand curling protectively around the envelope package as he stared into space. It was important that he think this over. He could go back to his family, no one would stop him, and… he would do it all over again when asked.

Bandaged fingers moved slowly, glacier speed, as they pulled the envelope open and reached inside.

But he didn’t have to go back immediately. He could wait and heal…and just think.

It was so different to have a choice and not a gut reaction. His family would always be his family and he would die for them a second time in the shadows if he could save them again.

But…

Maybe he could take just a little time to live for himself.


End file.
